Ron Sanford reads the daily newspaper every morning -- a habit of more than 40 years. I occasionally hear from him when he’s heated.

Sanford, 65, a retired computer science teacher in St. Charles County, Missouri, has accused me of having an agenda when I’ve written about school boards or book bans in the past. I usually reply to his emails, as I do with local readers whenever possible. The tone of many of his messages led me to believe he’s one of my “hate-readers” -- the ones who only read because they want something to criticize.

In this day and age of dwindling print subscribers, I’ll take it.

Last spring, however, I wrote something that really touched a nerve with Sanford. I was describing a situation in which my husband and I had gotten turned around in an unfamiliar neighborhood in St. Charles at night. It was shortly after two young people, one in Kansas City and one in upstate New York, had been shot by strangers simply for mistakenly knocking on their door or pulling into their driveway. At the time, I told my husband to be careful since we were in a “shoot-first” part of Missouri.

This description did not sit well with Sanford. He wrote to say that St. Charles County had lower rates of people getting shot than the city of St. Louis. He said it revealed my bias that I would describe the county that way, but not the city. (He used more emphatic language, but you get the idea.)

At first, I tried to describe what I had meant. The column was about where individuals feel safe, and a few weeks prior to writing it, I had read about signs from a white nationalist group popping up in St. Charles County. In such a deep red county, it’s also reasonable to expect a higher rate of gun ownership.

Perhaps an unknown person of color pulling into a stranger’s driveway in such an area would be viewed suspiciously. That was the context of my feeling unsafe in that situation.

Sanford insisted that my feelings did not justify the "shoot-first" descriptor. He pointed out there was scant evidence to suggest that I would be shot, and said I needed to publicly apologize. I considered his point of view and realized it was, indeed, a glib and unfair remark about St. Charles County.

I asked if I could call him and possibly write about our exchange. He reluctantly agreed.

I was curious about a few things. First of all, what was driving his dogged persistence in writing to me about this phrase? We had exchanged emails over several months by this point.

He admitted that being retired gave him ample time to send emails.

“I like getting emails because it’s something for me to do,” he said. That’s the opposite of how I feel about my overrun inbox, which I’m constantly triaging.

We did discover some unexpected common ground. He described himself as a moderate, politically speaking.

“I don’t like Trump or Biden, if that matters,” he said. Judging by the polls and approval ratings, the majority of the country feels the same way. When I asked about his top three issues going into this election, he said the economy, border security and, surprisingly, abortion.

“I have daughters,” he said. “Some of these laws being passed are insane.”

I didn’t expect to hear that.

Even more surprising, he said that he probably agrees with more of what I write than he disagrees with. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

We’ve become accustomed to making assumptions about people based on tweets, social media posts or brief interactions. Those who disagree on the most divisive issues tend to see each other as one-dimensional. But most people are more complicated. We just hear the loudest, least-nuanced voices most frequently.

Another reason I wanted to talk to Sanford is because I’ve been grappling with how our discourse around political disagreement in this country has devolved. I’ve talked to my children about how to disagree without being disagreeable, but maybe it’s better to model that behavior. In an election year that’s bound to be highly contentious and polarizing, I wanted to show them another way to talk about our differences.

“In general, I wish people who disagree with each other would talk more, like we are doing right now,” Sanford said during our phone call.

Maybe our conversation felt productive because I was willing to engage and admit that I was wrong on a point Sanford deeply cared about. It probably helped that his tone was much friendlier over the phone than in his emails. We got to know a little more about each other’s backgrounds and perspectives, and discovered areas of agreement. He trusted me enough to talk to me, even knowing I would be writing about it.

Before we ended the call, he said that his previous demands for a public apology had been “crossing the line.”

I recognized it as an olive branch, and I appreciated it.

For the record, I publicly apologize.

School board members waging a culture war in a large suburban district are due for a lesson in the Streisand effect.

The phenomenon is named after the iconic actress, singer and director Barbra Streisand, one of the few entertainers who has won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony award. But one part of her legacy has nothing to do with her immense talent.

In 2003, Babs sued a photographer and website for violating her privacy by publishing an aerial photo that included an image of her mansion. The picture was one of 12,000 photographs publicly available as part of the California Coastal Records Project. Her lawsuit was eventually dismissed, and Streisand had to pay the photographer's legal fees. The upshot was that the photo in dispute had been downloaded only six times prior to the lawsuit's filing -- but after it made headlines, more than 420,000 people visited the website.

That backfiring -- drawing even more attention to whatever you are trying to hide or censor -- became known as the Streisand effect. And now, a St. Louis-area school board is getting a taste of it.

Last month, the conservative majority on the Francis Howell school board -- the governing body for one of the largest school districts in Missouri -- voted to eliminate the elective Black History and Black Literature courses from the district’s three high schools.

The move prompted national headlines, like this one from the Associated Press: "Missouri school board that previously rescinded anti-racism resolution drops Black history classes."

Not a great look for the district, where just 8% of the student body is Black.

Post-Dispatch reporter Blythe Bernhard wrote that, last semester, there were 60 students taking Black History and 42 taking Black Literature across the three high schools. After the board removed the classes, more than 3,350 people signed a student-led petition calling on the district to reinstate them. A large group of students and teachers also wore black in protest.

Students could drive home the Streisand effect by signing up en masse for these classes when they are offered again. They may want to see for themselves what the conservative members of the all-white board find so objectionable in the teaching of Black history and literature.

Those courses were developed in the 2020-2021 school year. Teachers, administrators, the curriculum advisory council and the academic strategic planning committee reviewed them before gaining board approval. That was before members like Randy Cook, who said he campaigned on eliminating the courses, won seats on the board. The political action committee that supported the conservative takeover of the board had targeted the Black history and literature classes partly because the curriculum standards were developed by the civil rights group Southern Poverty Law Center. Board members Cook, Adam Bertrand, Jane Puszkar, Mark Ponder and Ron Harmon voted in favor of cutting the courses, and Janet Stiglich and Chad Lange were opposed.

Cook, the board’s vice president, said that he is opposed to teaching Black history and literature “through a social justice framework.”

The National Association of Social Workers defines social justice as the view that everyone deserves equal economic, political and social rights and opportunities. What’s so objectionable about equal rights and equitable opportunities for all -- especially for those who were denied such opportunities for much of our country’s history?

After facing backlash from students, teachers and the national press, the board backpedaled its decision. They are willing to reinstate the courses after approving a new curriculum “that is rigorous and largely politically neutral,” according to Bertrand, one of five conservatives who gained a majority on the board in the last two years.

Is it “politically neutral” to acknowledge that hundreds of years of slavery and segregation were a central part of American history and help explain why racial inequities persist to this day?

I guess that remains to be seen.

Keep in mind, this is the same school board that, last summer, rescinded the district’s 2020 anti-racism resolution -- a statement that “pledges to our learning community that we will speak firmly against any racism, discrimination, and senseless violence against people regardless of race, ethnicity, nationality, immigration status, religion, sexual orientation, gender identity, or ability.”

The AP reported that Cook defended rescinding the resolution, saying, “We just need to stick to the business of educating students here, and stay out of the national politics.”

In literature, that is called irony.

Most parents worry about the detrimental effects that technology use in our hyperconnected world can have on our children.

New reports underscore that concern. For instance, the New Mexico attorney general alleges in a lawsuit that Facebook and Instagram steer predators to children. According to a Wall Street Journal report, state investigators created fake accounts with AI-generated profile photos of fictitious children. The accounts were deluged with sexual propositions and adult sex content.

Earlier WSJ articles quote doctors and policymakers as saying that 13 is too young for social media -- that it poses a profound risk of harm to young people.

Unfortunately, our government fails to regulate Big Tech in any meaningful way, especially regarding how minors are negatively impacted by these companies. The burden falls entirely on parents, who are trying to balance their children’s desire to connect with their peers with protecting their social, emotional and intellectual development.

Author and digital life expert Devorah Heitner published a new book in September offering guidance on these issues: "Growing Up in Public: Coming of Age in a Digital World." She also wrote 2016's "Screenwise: Helping Kids Thrive (and Survive) in Their Digital World."

I talked to her about the questions she commonly hears from parents, and what advice she offers them.

Q: What has changed since you wrote your first book about parenting and technology?

A: It seems like there’s even more surveillance now, and it’s considered a mark of good parenting to constantly be surveilling your children. Now it feels like parents are doing something wrong if they are not doing it.

Q: Is this healthy for us or our children?

A: It’s good to remember what your own adolescence was like. Did your parents geo-track you or constantly look at your grades? Did you learn to solve some of your own problems because they didn’t automatically step in and solve them?

I think constantly tracking adolescents gives parents a false sense of security, and it can increase our anxiety. We should ask ourselves: What am I preventing my kid from learning if I am surveilling them?

Q: What worries parents about kids’ tech use?

A: I think parents are stressed about the lack of control and the really explicit content kids can see. It’s scary to realize how vulnerable our kids are in this world. Parents also get very nervous that kids are sharing about their mental health online. When we were growing up, we didn’t tell anyone because it was private. That’s changed.

Q: If I delay something related to technology, such as texting, Snapchat, etc., and my kid is the only one who doesn’t have it, will the social harm and/or exclusion outweigh the benefits of waiting?

A: Only you can answer this based on your own child’s personality, needs and circumstances, but you could consider a compromise where your child has limited access on your phone. Or you allow Snapchat, for example, but they have to be on ghost mode with location turned off.

No one should be in a rush to have their kids enter these worlds. Group texts are tough enough, especially in middle school. There’s some room between a complete ban and unfettered access.

Q: How can I model thoughtful tech use as an adult?

A: Can you take a break, take a walk without your phone, refrain from texting and driving and be sure you aren’t scrolling or texting when you are talking with your kids? Being available to your family and the people in the room is great modeling.

We want to teach our kids the thought process that is behind some of our communication choices. For example, we heard our parents on the phone when we were growing up, but we’re thumbing out our lives in front of our kids. Stop and mentor them sometimes about why you are emailing rather than texting or how you solved a misunderstanding.

Q: Is there any hopeful news to share on this front?

A: People find it refreshing to hear that our kids are not wrecked by technology use. Our kids are great and awesome. In fact, social media can be a platform for activism and neutral things. It’s not all terrible.